Snake Eyes
by Gil Robbo
Summary: A blast from the past brings problems for the CSI team when horrific murders begin to plague Vegas... And what is Grissom hiding about the killer? (Possibly R when finished)


Hazel leaned against the door of her room at the motel. The young brunette sighed, flicking through a magazine she'd bought earlier in the day. It bored her. Everything about Vegas bored her- especially the girl she was sharing the room with. Angelina had no sense of fun. She looked up as she heard the door click open, and her jaw dropped.  
  
"Ange? What the-"  
  
*******  
  
Grissom leant over the bodies, ignoring the sound of the officer who was valiantly retching onto the floor behind him.  
  
"Go outside before you contaminate my crime scene." He shook his head. Young officers always seemed to have no stomach for scenes such as this one. Although, he had to admit someone had gone to great lengths to remove various body parts. Dismemberment, although not particularly common, fascinated him. Especially this one. The faces had been ripped clean off the victims. Such rage...  
  
"Whoever did this, did it with something sharp." Grissom's head snapped up and he looked at the younger CSI.  
  
"Probably a scalpel or something. Regular knives aren't that strong." Sara gave him a little grin.  
  
"You'd forgotten I was here, hadn't you?" Grissom raised an eyebrow and looked at her.  
  
"I hadn't forgotten you were there, I was just thinking." He tapped the exposed skull of one of the victims.  
  
"And like a mask, 'twas ripped from him, all that gave him identity." Sara blinked.  
  
"You actually have a quote for someone having their face removed?" Grissom looked back at the body and nodded. "Mmmmhmmm." He stood up, pacing out the room. The blood splatters that covered the walls looked red and menacing in the half-light. He touched his lip with his fingers as he thought.  
  
"No signs of forced entry, meaning the door was opened willingly. The blood- spray says they were alive while they were being dismembered. There's too much for splash-back from a knife." He frowned slightly. "Not many signs of a struggle, either. Practically none. Who just lies there and lets themselves be hacked apart?"  
  
"Someone unconscious." Sara pointed out.  
  
"Mmm. There were two of them."  
  
"So?" Sara frowned.  
  
"In a small room like this, it would be hard to kill one at a time. The other one would probably hear something." Grissom paced out the room carefully, mentally estimating a width of five meters. Far too small to mask the sounds of screaming. "The other odd thing is, the maid said people were in the neighboring rooms. Why did no one hear anything? I can hear them now."  
  
"So what are you saying? That they willingly allowed themselves to be butchered?" She looked at him, slightly disgusted by the idea.  
  
"Sometimes, you'd be amazed what people will let others do to them- or do to themselves for that matter." The older man shrugged slightly. "It's too early to rule anything out as yet." He looked closely at the body parts, scattered around as they were.  
  
"Does anything about this strike you as odd?"  
  
"Nothing." Sara said flatly and then shrugged. "It looks pretty much like a text-book dismemberment."  
  
"No evidence." Grissom said quietly.  
  
"I've been looking at this room for nearly an hour and so have you. And in that time, we've uncovered nothing. Not a single fingerprint."  
  
Sara blinked.  
  
"So our killer is thorough. It's happened before."  
  
"If he cleaned up, how did he manage to do it without cleaning the walls, the ceiling or the carpet?" Grissom paced around the tiny room.  
  
"Everything here is bloodstained. Everything. So how could he clean up after himself and leave no evidence of it? It's almost as if no one else was here at all."  
  
*******  
  
Grissom walked into his office, having returned from the crime scene. Nothing, except a few fingerprints on the taps belonging to the vics and a tiny scrap of what appeared to be latex. And even Grissom could think of several things that latex might have peeled from. The case was cold. He could feel it. He glanced down at the paper-covered desk and noticed several envelopes in a heap. Obviously the mail had arrived. And that meant memos. The Entomologist sighed and picked up the stack, sorting through them. Meetings, deadlines, someone or other demanding to know why he'd not been at a meeting... An envelope caught his eye. There was no postmark or address, or any marking to show if it had come from another department. There were only two words- 'Gil Grissom'.  
  
After pausing for a moment, he tore the envelope open. After all, there was no reason to expect anything except another memo. His mind was playing tricks on him. Not enough sleep. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but flinch slightly, and then feel annoyed with himself when nothing happened. A single, folded sheet of paper lay inside the envelope and he tugged it out, opening it to read the words inside.  
  
'So many nights, I've cried myself to sleep, Without you, why don't you just leave? Get out of here and stop making these tears flow I've had enough I can't take it any more, I love you.'  
  
For a moment, he wondered if it was some sort of joke. Probably Nick and Greg would think something like this was hilarious...  
  
They don't know about it though. No one here knows about it. How could it have been?  
  
Grissom bit his lip. In fact, no one in the entire department, as far as he was aware, knew of his relationship with...  
  
...He couldn't even bring himself to think her name nowadays, let alone say it. She'd been his partner, twenty years ago. They'd worked together on the Kane Hunter Case. It had been her first and last. He'd found a similar letter back then. Just tucked underneath a pile of papers. With the same words written on it. No one else knew about it. No one. He'd never told anyone. Except... Now he was just being stupid. Robert Thorne was a liar and a fool, but not a murderer and definitely not the sort of person to try a stunt like this. He'd been behind bars for the past thirteen years anyway. The nightshift supervisor could remember giving evidence at his trial.  
  
That was all well and good... But who sent it?  
  
Grissom felt himself paling. Too many memories that he usually kept under wraps had started surfacing. He wondered if he was going to faint. His head span and he groped for the chair, collapsing into it. His head kept throbbing and he realized too late that a migraine had been brought on by the sudden tension.  
  
The door to his office opened right as he fell into the chair and Sara walked in with Warrick.  
  
"We've got the photos from the scene developed and..." Warrick stopped mid- sentence. "You feeling ok Griss?"  
  
Grissom muttered something about a migraine and winced at the little spots of light coming into his vision.  
  
"You want us to come back later?" Warrick frowned. His supervisor had seemed to have a lot of migraines lately. Grissom shook his head and winced again.  
  
"Tell me what you've got."  
  
"Other than the strands we found are definitely Latex? Not much. The bodies were hacked apart with a sharp, straight weapon, one edge smooth, the other serrated." Sara jumped in, looking frustrated. "There's practically nothing there at all. We did find some bloodstains in the shower, but it looks like it was the vics blood. And we have no positive ID. They paid in cash for their room and didn't leave names. And no one saw or heard anything unusual." She glanced at Grissom. All of this had barely gotten a reaction from him, but he nodded slowly when she looked at him.  
  
"Any hits with the DNA?"  
  
"No. Greg couldn't find anything, although we did get a profile of both vics." Sara replied despondently.  
  
"This case is cold. We have nothing to go on." Warrick added. "We'd just better hope he slips up next time."  
  
"If there is a next time." Grissom said quietly, looking at both of the CSIs. "No one said there has to be."  
  
******* 


End file.
